


bloom

by kimah (orphan_account)



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: + background scorptrapta!, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Break Up, Relationship Study, lil bit of glimmadora
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 23:32:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16901877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/kimah
Summary: THINGS I HATE ABOUT ADORA— An ongoing guide by Catra.(or, love in full bloom.)





	bloom

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! i convinced myself i was never going to write catradora angst simply because canon has far too much of that, but a fic later...here we are. i listened to a lot of sad break up songs while writing this, and if you want the full effect, listen to quiver by brockhampton and i dont wanna love somebody else by a great big world while you read. this fic is inspired by "the river runs" by tothemoon!
> 
> also, some things i googled/asked my friends while writing this:  
> how much is water at starbucks  
> complicated starbucks orders  
> how do i write about a haunted house  
> haunted house ao3  
> sleep mouth

The summer after, Catra finds herself under the shade of the sycamore tree. The sun is relentless, beating down through a canopy of light and heat as though to swallow its children whole. A bead of sweat rolls down her temple.

She’d been running. To where, only God knows. It’s just that lately, Catra finds herself nostalgic. Sometimes, she wants to crawl out of her skin with thought. Her therapist says running is good for her. Catra should really listen to her more often.

She runs her hands along the thick oak trunk. Funny, the space just below where the tree branches out still reads ‘A+C.’ Catra supposes nobody had the heart to carve it out.

_Love is a fleeting thing._

Catra measures love through events. She knows of it in the warmth of her foster parent’s eyes--how carefully they pieced together the jagged edges of a broken home with delicate, bleeding hands.

She knows of it in the morning, when the sun shines in through the curtains and casts a glow over the room that bathes them in golden light, blonde hair strewn across the pillow.

She knows love. She sees it in the little things and the big things. Sometimes mistakes it for a person on the street--a flash of blue or yellow is all it takes.

_I’m going to another school next year._

Catra knows it as surely as she knows the weight of the water bottle in her hand. She knows it like she knows love in full bloom, wind in her hair and the leaves, a saccharine mouth on hers.

_I can’t do long distance. It’s just too much._

Can you be homesick for a place that isn’t home?

_It’s not you. I just need a fresh start._

Is it okay to miss someone who left you behind?

_I’m so sorry, Catra. Know that I love you and that you did nothing wrong. More than anything, I love you._

No matter. In the end, love isn’t enough.

  


Summer ends, fall begins, and life goes on. Catra does the only thing she knows _how_ to do—be Catra.

“Y’know, I really think writing out your feelings would help,” says her therapist, pointing a pen at Catra for punctuation, “you never know until you try.”

So, Catra tries.

**_THINGS I HATE ABOUT ADORA_ **

An ongoing guide by Catra

****1\. Her smile.** **

 

Catra works at Starbucks. It’s the most mundane job she’s ever had, which isn’t necessarily saying a lot, because she used to babysit. However, she’s good at making lattes, and she knows how to spell most people’s names, so that counts for _something_ , right?

She’s working the register today. Behind her, Perfuma lets out a huff of defeat. “Y’know,” she begins, “do people just, like, google complicated orders before they come to Starbucks? Who orders a _quad_ of espresso?”

Catra laughs under her breath. “The same people who order dog coffee.”

“Dog coffee is fun to make, though,” Perfuma says, scrunching up her nose. “This, however, is _not_.”

Before they can continue their conversation, a customer demands Catra’s attention. She looks up from the register, mouth going dry.

“Hi,” Adora smiles, breathless. She looks breathtaking, wrapped up in a pink windbreaker, nose red from the cold. Her hair hangs in loose curls down her back. It’s grown a lot since the last time she saw her, almost three months ago. Catra feels like she might throw up. “Can I get a water?”

Catra refrains from asking something rude such as, ‘ _who orders a water at Starbucks?_ ’

The girl fills up a cup of water. “Is that all?” she asks in that sugary sweet customer service voice of hers, reserved exclusively for estranged ex girlfriends and white middle aged women.

Adora nods. She looks at Catra like one might look at a small puppy who just shit all over the floor. Catra reverts her gaze, flushed.

“Thanks, Catra,” Adora smiles, all gorgeous white teeth. Her voice husks around the word _Catra_ like it’s a dusty box inside a creaky basement freshly cracked opened.

Catra hates her.

  


  1. **Her kindness.**



 

Because the world just cannot seem to give her a break, Catra runs into Adora _again,_ this time a week later at the farmers market.

Let it be known that Catra did not _willingly_ decide to go to a _farmers market_ of all places. Not even _Adora_ goes to farmers markets. Then again, perhaps the brunette doesn’t know as much as she thought about Adora.

Catra chews her bottom lip as she watches Scorpia fuss over _flowers,_ of all things. It’s not like her friend’s suddenly become a botanist, though--it’s her friend’s _crush_ that’s a botanist. Well, Entrapta is both a _florist_ and a tech genius, but Catra can only guess she dabbles in botany, too.

Entrapta is cute. She’d be even cuter if Scorpia ever shut up about her.

“Catra?”

The latter turns around at the familiar voice, gaze meeting Adora’s. Her eyes are warm and soft, sparkling with a bit of hesitancy. She holds two mangos in her hand.

“Hey, Adora.”

The girl smiles gently. “How are you?” she asks, voice soft. Catra feels the familiar burn of anger in her gut, though, surprisingly, it’s a low simmer, not nearly enough to scorch her throat like usual when it comes to Adora.

Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe she’s moving on.

_I don’t want to move on._

“I’m okay,” Catra breathes, because this time, she sort of _means_ it. School is going well. Nowadays, she doesn’t calculate the span of time according to _pre_ and _post Adora_.

Adora beams. “I’m really glad,” she says. Catra hopes she means it.

“What about you?”

“I’m okay, too. I really like the sports medicine program at Bright Moon.”

The bile rising up her throat returns, though Catra swallows it down. There’s an underlying ‘ _I miss you_ ’ there, one Catra both yearns for and detests respectively. She still can’t decide if she forgives Adora or not--or if she did anything wrong in the first place.

“Want a mango?” Adora asks.

Catra likes mangos. Catra knows _Adora_ knows she likes mangos.

“Sure,” Catra says. She holds out a hand, barely resisting the urge to brush her fingers across the red of Adora’s knuckles when their palms meet. The two take the time to peel the skin off their mangoes, the silence between them the most comforting they’ve had in a year. Catra wants to asks so many things, like, _‘how have you been sleeping?’ ‘are you making friends?’ ‘do you still wake up and look for me?’ ‘what are you doing here?’_ Instead, she bites into the fruit, effectively silencing herself.

“Catra,” Adora starts, voice barely above a whisper, “do you think…,” she trails off, huffing out a frustrated breath. Running a hand through her hair, the girl finally says, “I want to see you more. I want to be your friend again. What do you think?”

Catra thinks a lot of things, but mostly the way she hates more than _anything_ how her heart speeds up, how she can’t stop staring at the plump of Adora’s lips, bubblegum pink and so hauntingly _home_.

“Okay,” she says. Shoves her shaking hands in the pockets of her jacket. “I’d like that.”

_I’d really like that._

 

  1. **Her friendliness** _._



 

By October, Catra and Adora have shared a dozen texts. They’ve only hung out once, which is fine, because Catra spent most of the time trying not to embarrass herself.

It’s almost sad, how _normal_ it all is. How easy it is to be friends with Adora--the blonde’s composition makes her stomach churn, for it feels so unfair how she can be okay when, an entire year later, Catra _isn’t_. If Adora is sad, or maybe even mad, she doesn’t show it. Catra supposes she’s gotten good at hiding in plain sight.

Still, there’s things Catra wishes she knew about Adora that she _never_ will, just like Adora will never know that she’s had her favourite hoodie, the orange one, since the day Catra moved out. It doesn’t really smell like her anymore, though.

“She got a dog,” Mermista says, dunking a fry into her ketchup. As per usual, she sounds bored, though Seahawk’s hands in her hair make her grin despite herself.

“I’m allergic to dogs.”

“I know.”

Catra emits a long-suffering sigh, biting down on her fry with the same ferocity of a mountain lion biting off the head of a deer.

“I’m sure she didn’t even realize.”

 _No_ , Catra wants to say, _she didn’t._ But sometimes, whenever you lose something, you gain a piece of yourself instead. Healing is never linear.

Adora chooses this moment to come back from the bathroom. She plops down in her seat in the booth, next to Catra, an easy grin on her face. She smells like she always does. Catra sort of wants to cry.

“I’ll be right back,” she mutters, worming her way around the aforestated girl and out of the booth. She barely keeps it down, the warmth of tears welling up in her eyes when she makes it out of the restaurant. The tears running down her red cheeks make them even colder.

Catra tells herself it’s okay to crumble sometimes.

  


She visits the park again. Sits under the sycamore tree. This time, the etching of their initials in the bark is gone. Catra wishes she knew how to immortalize this better.

_Here is where I loved you._

  


  1. **Her courage** ~~ **and protectiveness**~~ **.**



 

 **adora** : What are you doing for Halloween?

 **me** : nothing.

 **adora** : Come out with me. I want free candy

 **me** : ok.

Catra goes as a cat, as such is the way of life. Adora puts on her volleyball jacket and calls it good. It is all very anticlimactic.

Maybe if Catra were stronger, she would refuse Adora in her endeavors. She has a seminar tomorrow, anyway. However, she’s _not_ strong, and as such suffers aching feet and sore legs to make her _friend_ happy (it’s still new, you see).

As a couple, they never did the whole Halloween thing. The two much preferred the alternative of staying in and watching scary movies on Netflix, cuddled up and warm.

_A year can change everything._

“I’ll give you all my chocolate,” Catra says. She doesn’t need to further explain that chocolate makes her sick, because Adora already knows this. For some reason, that feels so _big_ , like it could swallow Catra entirely.

Adora looks grateful. “You’re the best!” she cheers. If, in that moment, Catra believes it, no one has to know.

“‘Cmon,” Catra says in leeway of an answer, wrapping a hesitant arm around Adora’s shoulder, “there’s a haunted house up ahead.”

A fact about Adora is that she _loves_ being scared. She’s brave and adventurous, too, eager to do just about anything that exilerates her.

Catra wants to be like that.

The entryway to the haunted house is lined with a row of party city skeleton heads, and a hazy fog conceals the entrance. As though Adora has the ability to read minds, she grabs Catra’s hand.

Bathed in darkness upon entering, Catra can only cling to Adora. They walk slowly through, shadowed by a small party of loud teenagers. Catra watches over her shoulder as one of the boys teases a girl much smaller than him, shoving her shoulder. She glares.

Upon turning back around, Catra is met with the sight of a ghastly pale woman with black sockets where her eyes should be, blood dripping from her mouth as she moans and wheezes.

Catra screams. In her observation of the boy, she’d lost Adora, hand devoid of her warmth. The teenagers gasp and shriek in correspondence, the aforementioned guy even gripping Catra by her waist in fear. She flinches.

 _Let me go_ , she thinks, too scared and cowardly to actually say it.

“Please...help me find my body...they killed me,” the ghost woman rasps, voice echoing throughout the room. Catra shoves the boy’s hand off of her, moving closer to the door.

When nobody answers her, the lady emits a horrible screeching noise. “You have to help me! I’LL KILL YOU!”

 

Catra effectively makes it out of the room whenever the teens grab the woman’s attention, stomach in her throat. She exhales a shaky breath.

“Catra?!”

The familiar comfort of Adora’s voice makes the girl whimper, too wound up to contemplate the consequences when she collapses in her friend’s arms. Catra inhales Adora’s scent, swallowing a sob of relief.

“I’m so sorry,” Adora gasps, “one minute you were there, the next you weren’t!”

Catra stays quiet, face burrowed into Adora’s chest. The latter doesn’t speak, either, resorting to running her fingers through Catra’s curls and humming a comforting, low tune under her breath. Catra doesn’t want to think about how accustomed she is to this.

“You’re okay,” Adora whispers instead, mouthing at the top of Catra’s head.

They stay there for a while, Adora rocking Catra in her arms. It’s the most tender thing she’s felt in months.

  


  1. **Her hands.**



 

When Catra is bored, she fiddles with things. Moreover, when she and Adora were dating, she fiddled with _her_ things.

Today, Adora is over at Catra’s dorm. It’s a Saturday, the orange and yellow leaves of early November casting her campus in a blanket of fall.

“I swear it wasn’t like this yesterday,” Catra says, nose pressing against the cool glass of the window.

Adora hums in acknowledgement from her perch on the floor, textbooks and notes strewn about Catra’s cheap coffee table. She has an exam next week.

The brunette gets to her feet, plopping down on a pillow next to Adora. She leans her head on her shoulder.

Lately, Catra has become increasingly grateful for her friendship with Adora. The girl is patient and understanding, and Catra feels like she’s truly learning how to heal. Her therapist says so, anyway.

More than anything, she missed having a best friend.

Catra rests her gaze on Adora’s hand, poised firmly on the coffee table. Catra runs a finger over her’s-- _cold_. She sniffs, absentmindedly playing with Adora’s fingers as she watches her work.

After a while, Adora turns, letting out a breath as though she’s about to speak. She falls short when she meets Catra’s gaze, blue eyes burning something fierce.

Then, they’re kissing. It’s just as good as it was a year ago. Adora tastes like honey and vanilla, and Catra sighs into her mouth.

She could stay here forever.

  


  1. **Her** ** ~~apathy~~ ****(maturity).**



 

 **adora:** That kiss was a mistake. It can’t happen again.

 **me** : agreed.

 **me** : you’re still a shit kisser.

Life goes on.

  


  1. **Her laugh.**



 

“Okay,” Adora begins, placing a hand on her hip, “we’ll never talk about kissing ever again, but I _am_ forcing you to get a Christmas tree.”

Catra doesn’t even try to hide her grin.

“My dorm is too small for a tree,” she says. “Do _you_ have the money for a Christmas tree?”

Adora lets out a scoff, rolling her eyes. It’s devoid of malice, though, giving way to the lithe mischief Catra has always loved about Adora. She thinks maybe she should start there in her dissecting of her feelings for Adora.

 _I want to talk about the kiss_ . _What’s so bad about kissing me?_

This thing ( _friendship_ ) between them, it’s too good. Catra knows in the long run she’s going to mess it up, as is inevitable with a multitude of her relationships. She just hopes it isn’t any time soon.

“That’s why there’s mini Christmas trees,” Adora huffs. “It’s like Christmas in a bottle!”

Catra snorts under her breath, effectively causing Adora to emit a loud, musical laugh of her own. She gasps between chuckles, which is just _so_ fucking cute that Catra feels like she might combust.

“Alright, fine—but you’re carrying it home.”

Catra’s tongue curls around the word _home_ like it’s sugar sweet.

  


By a stroke of sheer luck, Scorpia finds the list. While it’s not to say that a sparkly red journal is the most discreet of locations for her venting, Catra still had some form of hope that her methods of getting over her ex girlfriend would be kept under lock and key. The girl had been shuffling through the papers for their project, eyebrow raised as she presented the incriminating evidence. Catra _may_ have forgot that she unknowingly used the thing for note taking during a lecture or two.

“What’s this?” she hums, thumbing through the pages. Her eyes widen when she presumably finds Catra’s list. “Catra…,” Scorpia trails off, sighing.

Though Catra thinks she doesn’t necessarily need to defend _anything_ , nor be sheepish, she can’t help the blush that spreads across her cheeks. “It’s, uh, a thing for therapy.”

Scorpia smiles. “That’s great,” she says, “good for you. Though…” the girl scratches at her head in an attempt to conjure up words for her thoughts. “Wasn’t that session, like, a _while_ ago?”

“Yeah,” Catra sighs, giving in to wont. “I’m just... _coping_ , I guess.”

“And you’re doing a good job.” Scorpia pats Catra’s leg like a mother comforting her child. “Anyway, you’re coming to dinner tonight, right?”

“Mhm.”

“How are you and Entrapta, by the way?” Catra asks, resting her head on her knees as she watches Scorpia get up to fiddle around in the kitchen.

“We’re good! I like her _so_ much.” Catra can hear the smile in her friend’s voice. She giggles.

One dropped pan and effective bowl of ramen noodles later, Scorpia settles back onto the couch, legs tangled with Catra’s under their fluffy purple down blanket.

“What about _you_?”

“What do you mean, what about _me_?”

Scorpia swallows a mouthful of noodles, humming, “how do you feel, now that you and Adora are practically dating again?”

“We’re not _practically dating again,_ ” Catra scoffs, though it doesn’t sound convincing even to _herself_ . She fiddles with a loose thread in the blanket, heart in her throat. She thinks that maybe this isn’t the most effective way to get over someone--and, in a moment of silence, that she should keep sticking to her list. _Adora just isn’t that great,_ she tells herself, mouth dry when she swallows her spit.

“Not _yet_ ,” Scorpia smirks.

“Oh, well thank you, _Adora_! It’s so great to know you like me that much!”

“ _Okay_ ,” the girl snorts, eyes rolling as she blows on the broth in her bowl, “I just think it’ll happen.”

Catra hopes she’s right.

  
  


  1. **Her charisma**.



 

“Did you hear?” Perfuma asks. It’s a slow morning, the usual ebb and flow of customers drowned out by the soft, droning acoustic of Ed Sheeran (or _whoever_ )

“Hear what?”

“Adora’s dating someone. I thought you knew?”

_“Who?”_

Catra feels like she might be sick. Out of every single possible outcome, she truly did _not_ predict _that._ She feels the panic rise in her chest, running shaking fingers through the mess of her curls. _Breathe, Catra._

“Her name’s Glimmer or Sparkle or somethin’,” Perfuma says, bored as she inspects her nails. Somehow, it all feels so surreal, how perfectly calm she could be, meanwhile Catra’s life ends right before her eyes.

If there were to be an explosion, she truly wishes it would happen right here and right now, in the middle of Starbucks, effectively taking Catra out in one fell swoop.

Perhaps it feels final, this crushing weight of agonizing _loneliness,_ the realization that she truly just was not good enough. No matter how hard she tried or how much love she gave, she could never compete with _anyone_ vying for Adora’s affections.

Catra grips the counter, counts to five, and tries to convince herself the world isn’t ending.

“When did they start dating?” she chokes out.

“Like, a week ago? A-Are you okay, Catra?” Perfuma rests a worried hand on the aforementioned’s shoulder--Catra tries desperately to scrounge up a lifetime of mannerisms she’s been taught, barely resisting the urge to shove it off entirely.

Swallowing the bile rising up her throat, Catra nods. A week ago, Adora bought Catra a Christmas tree. A week ago, they had tomato soup and watched _Scooby Doo._ A week ago, everything was okay.

“I’ll be back,” Catra says.

She doesn’t know how she gets to the bathroom, only that she’s sitting on the lid of the toilet, head in her hands as she _cries_.

More than anything, Catra hopes she’s happy. She doesn’t hate this girl, Glimmer, nor does she even hate _Adora_ \--just herself, for being so utterly _vulnerable_ , for allowing herself to get so low she doesn’t know how to get up.

Catra can’t imagine herself loving anyone else.

  


  1. **Her concern.**



 

Catra avoids Adora’s calls and texts. She doesn’t even talk to any of her friends. She allows herself to let go.

The heavy burden of love and loss are all encompassing. She feels love like a phantom limb, or maybe a warm body to wake up to. She sees love in her coffee order and in the penny fountain.

 _Love is not meant for someone like me_ , she thinks, _I will tear you apart._

Above all, she doesn’t know how to broach the subject. How do you _truly_ get over someone? How do you undo everything you’ve been taught with loving hands and a soft voice and mouth? How do you forget all the memories that you measure by the amount of love you have?

Catra’s therapist tells her to make new memories. To call Adora back, and accept Mermista’s invitations to hang out on the weekend. She doesn’t, though. She doesn’t know how to.

 **adora** : Did I do something?

 **adora** : I’m sorry.

 _You don’t have to pretend anymore,_ she wants to say.

 

When Catra wakes up, she realizes she is on the couch. She’s disoriented and groggy, mouth dry from sleep and eyes weary. It’s dark out, the only noises the collection of the low drone from the tv and the car alarm outside.

Scorpia is adjacent to her, snoring softly. The silver of her hair falls in her face--Catra brushes it away, soft as a feather.

Finally, Catra settles back down, filling the space between Scorpia’s body and the couch cushion. She rests her head on her friend’s chest, the rise and fall of breath lulling her to sleep.

  


  1. **Her cowardice.**



 

Weeks go by, and December rolls into January. Catra spends Christmas with her foster family, then New Year’s with Scorpia’s own family. She doesn’t think about Adora.

_She does._

Catra buries herself in the next semester’s coursework. She manages her time between school and work and friends and therapy. She hasn’t seen Adora in a month and three days. Somehow, the girl found out about Catra’s knowledge of her newly blossoming relationship--that can be the only explanation for why she hasn’t bothered calling anymore. Maybe she just gave up.

Catra doesn’t dare visit the sycamore tree on her runs.

 **adora** : Glimmer wants to meet you.

 **me** : thanks but no thanks, princess.

 **adora** : I’m sorry.

 **me** : what do u keep apologizing for.

 **adora** : I don’t know.

 **me** : stop texting me then.

Catra thinks she simply can’t bear meeting The Other Woman. It’s truly not as though she dislikes Glimmer--in fact, she seems like a lovely girl, someone _perfect_ for Adora. It’s just that she can’t pretend like she’s over her ex girlfriend.

Catra hopes Glimmer doesn’t resent her or think she’s a bad person. Somehow, that hurts even more.

 

“Adora keeps asking about you,” Seahawk mutters, head buried in his Psychology textbook.

“Okay,” Catra says. She doesn’t want to care. “Why won’t she talk to me herself, then?”

Seahawk shrugs. “Scared, I suppose. I don’t really know.”

 _What do_ you _have to be scared of, Adora?_

“She wants to know if you’re still having nightmares,” the man continues, voice soft and smile tired. Catra sort of wants to hug him.

“It’s not her business.”

“You’re right.”

A momentary lapse of silence falls between them. Catra plays with the strings of her hoodie.

“Hey, Seahawk?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks,” Catra smiles.

Seahawk smiles right back.

  


  1. **Her stupid, annoying face.**



 

The snow melts, giving way to springtime. Normally, Catra is all about spring--however, this year the wound is still fresh. She doesn’t know how to stop the bleeding.

Over the course of a few months, Catra has come to the Earth-shattering realization that she doesn’t need Adora’s approval to be happy. She doesn’t need Adora to _make_ her happy. Perhaps there’s still a small part of her, buried underneath the chalky pile of rubble, still preening at the fact that Adora believes in her.

They still don’t speak, and Catra is okay with that. _Has_ to be okay with that. She’s happy for Adora--really is _so_ happy for her.

But she has her own life to lead.

Often she will reminisce about the winter--how everything was _so_ right, from the mini Christmas tree right down to the kiss.

By a stroke of luck, Catra catches Adora at the tail end of her shift, looking as radiant as the day she first met her. She’s with someone--a small, purple haired girl-- _Glimmer_ , she concedes.

“Welcome to Starbucks, what can I get for you?” Perfuma trills. She already knows what Adora wants, but she has a job to do, so.

“I’ll get a chocolate milkshake,” Glimmer says. Adora towers over her, hand slung casually over her shoulder. Catra still feels the pang of hurt, but it’s dull now, and for that she is grateful.

The blonde notices Catra when she hands Perfuma the drinks. An unreadable look presents itself upon her face, but she mostly looks guilty, bringing her arm back down to her side like she’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

Catra hates it.

Glimmer introduces herself to the latter, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she takes a sip from her shake. She’s _really_ cute, and _extremely_ energetic--Catra now knows what Adora sees in her.

“How do you know Adora?” she asks Catra.

_She hasn’t told her?_

Catra swallows, breath shaky on the exhale. She’s a lot of things, but a liar is not one of them. “We were together, a long time ago,” she says. Feels the rolling of her gut.

Adora doesn’t look at either of them.

Glimmer seems excited at the prospect of Catra’s knowledge on Adora. She refrains from telling her about how much she likes One Direction, or that she used to eat so much cookie dough Catra had to stop her in fear of salmonella. Maybe Glimmer already knows these things, after all.

“It was good to see you, Catra,” Adora finally says, waving a little goodbye.

“You too,” Catra smiles, and this time she means it.

  


  1. **How she loves me, too.**



 

With summer comes the promise of rebirth. Catra aces all her exams and, as such, successfully passes her sophomore year of University without a hitch.

This time, under the shade of the sycamore tree, Catra sees the stirring of something in the leaves--or maybe under her skin.

Adora greets her with a sheepish smile, holding out a strawberry ice cream cone. Catra smiles back.

In a year, Catra has allowed herself to grow in tune with the poppies and the tulips and the lavenders. She’s held courage to her chest and in the deepest parts of her ribcage, where nobody else could find it.

“I don’t regret kissing you,” Adora says, snapping Catra out of her stupor. The blonde takes a tentative lick of her ice cream, cheeks a flush of sunburn and adoration.

In April, Glimmer ended things with Adora, much like you would bid goodbye to a season’s passing. It was mutual--it just wasn’t working, Adora said. They still talk often, and for that Catra is truly happy

Under the sycamore tree, where the bark beneath the leaves is freshly carved, once more, Catra feels it bloom, creating a supernova in her chest.

“I don’t, either.”

_Love is a lasting thing._

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading if you made it this far, feedback is always appreciated!!  
> jewishbow on tumblr


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